Spider-Man and Batman.
Neither possessed divine, world-shattering powers.
Batman relied on his gear and his mind; Spider-Man relied on his super-abilities and his intellect.
Both had suffered profound losses, bearing the heavy weight of a tragic duty as a result.
Bruce Wayne fought for vengeance; Peter Parker fought out of responsibility.
Both guarded their respective cities.
Both relied primarily on their fists and wits to battle evil.
Even their rogue’s galleries shared striking parallels: The Joker and Green Goblin, Black Cat and Catwoman, Sandman and Clayface.
Peter and Bruce were practically mirror images of each other.
One had superpowers; the other possessed peak-human training and vast wealth.
If Peter wanted to become Spider-Man, he couldn’t follow in the old Peter Parker’s footsteps.
He had to be stronger.
He had to transcend the original!
He leaned against the wall of the hangar, looking around.
Why go to such lengths?
For people he didn’t even know?
No, he couldn’t think like that.
The horrifying carnage of Hulk and Abomination’s duel in Harlem flashed through his mind.
If a sufficiently powerful hero had intervened back then, the destruction wouldn’t have been nearly as severe.
He needed to be a hero.
Now that he had these powers, why settle for being a mediocre wall-crawler?
Upon returning home, Peter opened his computer and began searching for the skills he needed to acquire.
He compiled a list: various martial arts, mechanical engineering, chemistry, physics, and even foreign languages.
He found a dojo offering mixed martial arts training, including Karate, Judo, and Taekwondo—two hours for each discipline, running from three to nine in the evening.
An ordinary person would sign up for just one class, but Peter wasn’t an ordinary person.
He couldn’t immediately put on a suit and play vigilante; both the suit and the Mark II web-shooters required time to build.
He had to be patient, lay low, study, and grow.
The birth of Spider-Man would take time.
The next day, Peter adjusted his study strategy.
He went to the library and checked out an introductory French textbook.
During history class, while listening to the teacher’s lecture, he rapidly memorized French vocabulary in his head.
Thanks to Peter Parker’s insanely adept brain, he mastered basic French phrases in a single day.
While it wasn’t enough to hit on French supermodels just yet, it was a solid start.
In class, he began asking questions relentlessly, filling pages with notes.
The teachers were initially delighted, but soon grew overwhelmed by his barrage of queries.
After school, Peter didn’t take the bus with Mary Jane.
Instead, he caught a train directly to Manhattan.
Before leaving, he told Aunt May and Uncle Ben that he was attending a martial arts class.
“Peter, why do you want to learn that?” Aunt May asked, her voice laced with concern.
“I want to defend myself, Aunt May.
If I ever run into danger, I want to be able to handle it.” “But Peter—” “May, let the boy do what he wants,” Uncle Ben chimed in with a gentle smile.
“It’s a good thing he wants to protect himself.
Besides, he finally has a hobby.” *It’s not really a hobby; it’s more like an agenda,* Peter thought to himself, though he nodded outwardly.
“Yeah, life was getting pretty boring.
I need something fun to do.” “Can’t you and Mary Jane find something to do together?” Aunt May suggested.
“No, Mary Jane…
she’s been really busy lately,” Peter shrugged.
“It’s no big deal.
But I really want to learn this, Aunt May.
Please?” Aunt May ultimately gave in, though she warned him not to push himself too hard.
Peter lied, claiming the class ran only from five to nine in the evening and was just a single course instead of three.
Arriving in Chinatown, he stood before the Chikara Dojo.
Watching parents drop off their children, Peter felt a flicker of hesitation.
Could this place actually teach anything real?
Or was it just a money-grabbing shell?
As he hesitated, his gaze caught a neon sign half-hidden around the street corner.
*Chikara Dojo.* Peter’s pupils contracted slightly.
Colleen Wing.
She was Iron Fist’s love interest, but at this point in time, she was also a member of The Hand!
And in this universe, The Hand was a league of assassins specializing in brainwashing children to turn them into killing machines!
Peter found himself caught in a dilemma.
Going to other dojos risked wasting money on frauds, while coming here—despite knowing it was a wolf’s den—might yield real skills.
It was a dangerous gamble.
Hand ninjas were peerless killers in this world.
But then again, hadn’t Bruce Wayne learned from Ra’s al Ghul?
His plan was to start from the bottom, then seek opportunities to acquire advanced ninjutsu.
Peter entered the building and walked up to the second floor.
The yellow hallway looked identical to the one in the TV show.
He stood outside the dojo, watching Colleen Wing instruct her students.
He had to admit, she carried herself with striking charm.
Noticing him, Colleen nodded for him to step inside.
Peter took off his shoes and stepped onto the mat.
“I want to learn ninjutsu,” he said, looking straight into her eyes.
The female ninja offered a subtle smile.
“You’ve come to the right place.
But you don’t need to talk like you’re in a kung fu movie.” Peter scratched his head with an embarrassed laugh.
“Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.” “It’s fine.
I’m Colleen Wing.
And you are?” “Peter.
Peter Parker.” He slipped off his jacket, revealing the athletic wear underneath.
“Can I start now?” Colleen looked slightly surprised.
“No, not today.
Today, I want you to stand to the side and observe.
Can you do that, Peter?” Peter nodded.
“Of course.” He sat at the edge of the mat, his eyes glued to Colleen’s movements.
The students were practicing basic Kendo swings.
When the first session ended, everyone was drenched in sweat.
Kendo involved far more than swinging a sword; it demanded intense wrist technique and physical endurance.
“Alright, that’s all for today.
Same time tomorrow—don’t be late!” Colleen dismissed the class and walked over to Peter.
“What do you think?
Think you can keep up?” “If I keep up, will you let me skip ahead?” Peter countered.
Colleen paused, taken aback.
“What do you mean?” “What they’re learning is too basic.
I doubt this is your elite class.
Your dojo must have different tiers, right?
If I learn fast enough, I hope you’ll let me advance rather than being held back by their pace.” A flash of astonishment crossed Colleen’s eyes.
“I never let talented students go to waste.
If you prove yourself, I’ll let you advance.
But don’t get your hopes too high, Peter.” The corner of Peter’s mouth curled up.
“I think I can manage.” “Really?” “Definitely.” Peter walked over to the weapon rack and picked up a wooden sword.
“Mind if I give it a try?” Colleen hesitated for a second, then nodded.
“Go ahead.
Show me what you’ve got.” Taking a deep breath, Peter executed the three basic kata Colleen had taught the students earlier.
The first set was a basic offense-and-defense combination; the second incorporated footwork and turns; the third featured complex slashing patterns.
Relying on Spider-Man’s agility and superhuman intellect, he not only replicated them perfectly, but also corrected several minor errors in force exertion.
Colleen’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“What?!
How did you do that?
Have you trained before?” Peter shook his head.
“No.
I just watched how they moved and copied them.
Along the way, I noticed a few mistakes and fixed them.” Colleen exhaled deeply, a smile of genuine admiration appearing on her face.
“It’s an honor to teach you, Peter.” Peter bowed slightly.
“Thank you, Sensei Wing.
Does your next class start soon?” “Yes, there are three more sessions coming up.
You want to stay?” “Yes.” “Alright.
But you’re not allowed to practice the moves I teach them today, understood?
Those techniques are extremely dangerous and can only be used safely by a master.
Don’t be greedy, understand, Peter?” Peter smiled.
“I wouldn’t even dream of it.” For the next three hours, Peter sat by the edge of the mat, watching four batches of students come and go.
Colleen’s teaching structure was well organized: the first group trained in Kendo, the second worked on advanced techniques and sparring, the third focused on hand-to-hand combat, and the fourth trained as pure killing machines.
Peter knew in his heart that this was still not The Hand’s complete ninja training regimen.
The fourth group of students was still full of flaws.
They would likely be sent to a dedicated facility for further brainwashing and training.
Iron Fist had mentioned that facility was in New York, but Peter couldn’t recall the exact location.
After paying a month’s tuition, Peter headed home earlier than expected.
Aunt May was pleased that he had found a dojo with reasonable hours, completely unaware that her nephew was cutting deals with a league of assassins.
If she knew, she’d probably faint on the spot.
The next morning, Peter got up early for a morning run.
Seeing him working out, Aunt May smiled warmly.
“Mary Jane really is a wonderful influence on you, Peter.” Peter’s expression darkened, his voice stiff.
“I’m not doing this for her, or for anyone else, Aunt May.
I’m doing this for myself.” He headed out the door with a touch of irritation.
In the two hours before school, he ran for half an hour and spent the rest of his time in the hangar practicing swinging on iron chains, honing his aerial balance and body control.
Because he immersed himself so deeply, he nearly ran late.
He sprinted home at peak speed, showered, and changed into fresh clothes, setting a new personal record.
When he hurried downstairs, Uncle Ben was reading the newspaper.
“Morning, Uncle Ben.” Peter grabbed his breakfast and began shoving it into his mouth.
“Slow down, Peter!
You’ll—” Peter suddenly broke into a fit of coughing.
Uncle Ben sighed and handed him a glass of water.
“Choked on it, did you?
Drink some water.
Don’t rush.” “Can’t be late.
Need to catch the bus.” Peter gulped down the water.
“I’ll drive you then,” Uncle Ben said, standing up and grabbing his car keys.
“Finish your food.” Peter wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and stepped outside with Uncle Ben.
Just as they reached the front yard, he saw Mary Jane waiting for her ride across the street.
Before Peter could step forward to greet her, a convertible sports car roared down the street, screeching to a halt right in front of her.
Harry Osborn sat in the driver’s seat, leaning on the horn and shouting, “Mary Jane!
Hurry up!” “Coming!” Mary Jane cheered, running over and sliding into the passenger seat.
She exchanged a smiling look with Harry, and the sports car tore away, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
Peter stood frozen in place, a low growl of frustration escaping his throat.
He had actually grunted aloud.
“Peter,” Uncle Ben sighed gently.
“She’s not abandoning you.” “Is that so?
Because that’s exactly what it feels like.” Peter yanked open the car door coldly.
“Let’s go, Uncle Ben.
I’m going to be late.” Uncle Ben started the car and slowly pulled into the street.
“Peter, she’s just happy to make new friends.
Can’t you understand that?” “I understand.
I also understand that the moment she makes new friends, I get completely ignored and forgotten.” Uncle Ben drove smoothly.
“Peter, talking to you less doesn’t mean she values your friendship any less.” “Maybe she doesn’t, but I do,” Peter sighed.
“I don’t even know why I’m complaining.
It’s not like I had friends to begin with.
But Uncle Ben…
feeling ignored really sucks.” Uncle Ben smiled gently.
“I know, I know.
But things will get better, I promise.” Peter didn’t reply.
Looking out at the receding scenery through the window, he quietly asked himself: *Should I even stay friends with her?* That day at school, Peter didn’t speak to anyone.
Mechanically, he took notes, studied French, and strictly carried out his plan.
After school, he went to the Chikara Dojo.
Colleen permitted him to join the beginners’ line, but his grace and precision—far beyond that of an ordinary human—put everyone else to shame.
Spider-Man’s physical conditioning was the ultimate cheat code.
In the evening, Peter took the train back to Queens.
Just as he stepped out of the train station, a sharp scream pierced the quiet street.
Peter’s eyes narrowed.
A mugging!
Like an arrow released from a bowstring, he darted out the doors, scanning the street opposite him.
A man and his girlfriend were being backed into an alley by three knife-wielding thugs.
Without hesitation, Peter pulled up his hoodie to cover most of his face and charged in.
“Hand over the jewelry and cash, or I’ll gut you!” a thug snarled viciously.
“Okay, please, just don’t hurt us!” the man stammered, shielding his girlfriend.
“Hey, jackasses!” Peter shouted from the alley mouth.
The nearest thug turned his head.
“What the—” Before he could finish, Peter’s boot slammed hard into his face.
Accompanied by the sickening crunch of a breaking nasal bridge, the guy flew backward and crashed heavily to the ground.
“Get him!” another thug roared, lunging at Peter’s abdomen with a knife.
Spider-Sense triggered instantly.
Peter shifted his torso slightly, effortlessly dodging the blade.
He grabbed the thug’s wrist in a reverse grip, twisted violently to disarm him, tossed the knife away, and swept the man off his feet with a sweeping low kick.
Seeing this, the last thug bellowed and charged, attempting to tackle Peter.
Peter leaped lightly, vaulting cleanly over his head, and landed behind him, delivering a sharp kick to the man’s back that pinned him to the pavement.
Before the guy could scramble, Peter stepped forward and seized his fallen knife.
Exerting force with his fingertips, the knife seemed almost glued to his hand as he easily wrested it free and threw it aside.
“You motherf—” Peter’s fist struck the thug’s face.
The tremendous impact crushed his nose instantly, sending him sliding back two meters across the ground.
Peter spun around and delivered a brutal kick to the gut of the last thug who was trying to climb back up.
The air knocked out of his lungs in an instant, the man curled into a fetal position, clutching his solar plexus in agony.
“Th-thank you…” the rescued man stammered, trembling.
Peter didn’t turn around, his face concealed beneath the shadow of his hood.
He cast a brief glance at the couple, then turned and vanished from the alley at blinding speed.
He was hardly trying to be a superhero yet.
A skinny kid knocking out three knife-wielding thugs in seconds?
If that were caught on camera, there would be no explaining it!
That night, Peter returned home with a smile on his face.
“Good workout at the gym?” Aunt May asked.
“It’s a dojo, Aunt May.
But yeah, it was great.” Peter recalled how cleanly and efficiently he had handled the fight, feeling a surge of satisfaction.
If he truly mastered martial arts, he would be even cooler!
He only hoped his synthesized concept of combining Batman and Spider-Man was accurate enough.
“That’s good.
Go wash up, Peter.
We’re having your favorite pizza tonight!”